Abducted

by Dana Mentink

  I’m tired of hurting, Lord. I’m tired of being scared. I’m sick of losing.

  Recalling those long days in the hospital, she sometimes thought she could still smell the disinfectant, feel the stiff blankets around her legs. She recalled the favorite verse her mother read her every day during her extended hospital stay, over the beeping of the monitors, the endless prodding of the doctors.

  These things I have spoken unto you, her mother had read, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

  Tribulation? In the last forty-eight hours—indeed, the last several years—she’d had more than her fill of it. And oh, how much she’d lost—Jett, her father, her sense of safety, her confidence. She would let go her nursing profession, too, if she followed through on her plan to walk away from that. Was she a fool to think she should give that up to be a part of the family business? How much could she be expected to lose? Her father’s weathered face surfaced in her memory, ever the tough marine with such tenderness for his wife and four girls that it took her breath away to recall it.

  The grief swelled inside her and then a tiny trickle of comfort.

  I’ve lost so much, but I haven’t lost my God, she thought. And there was a sense of peace in that. She hurried to keep pace with Jett.

  You’ve overcome the world, Father. Help me to overcome this.

  Was she praying to Him about being imprisoned by a madman? Or the dark chasm that separated her from the man who had once been her everything? Perhaps she longed for God’s power to overcome the thick blanket of grief that still lingered when she thought of her father or her own loss of confidence.

  As they traveled back to the prison of Ellsworth’s house, she was not sure.

  * * *

  Jett pulled on a pair of dry jeans tossed at him by Cy, over the monitoring bracelet around his ankle. The workman’s shirt he put on next was heavy-duty and made for labor, which was fine by Jett. His nerves still tingled at how close he’d been to finding an escape route. Something else tugged at his insides as he pictured Sarah, standing in the veiled moonlight, eyes searching his face for signs that he’d betrayed her. He mulled it over as he waited for Cy to unlock the cell again.

  She’d really thought he’d leave her? Was that truly what she believed him capable of, after all they’d shared? It was a knife to his heart. He recalled standing in the rain for three hours waiting for her to finish taking the SAT.

  You waited? she’d said, her smile bright, cheeks pink.

  ’Course I waited, he’d replied with the proper dash of bravado. Don’t want my girl walking home alone. It was as though even now he could feel the imprint of her hand in his, the enormous joy at knowing Sarah Gallagher was his and no one else’s.

  That was years ago, Jett. You’re both different people now. She doesn’t know you, and you don’t know her. Natural, he supposed, that after what she’d experienced she would be worried about him deserting her. Natural, but it stung anyway.

  Or maybe, he thought with a surge of guilt, he’d walked away from her each time he’d messed up, lashed out. Maybe each of those outbursts were a method of pushing Sarah away until she had no choice but to cut him loose. Better for her to dump him, since he knew he could never willingly let her go. He’d known all along she was too good for him, and he’d gone out of his way to prove it. What was one more betrayal from him now? The twisting in his gut did not ease as he was escorted to the dining room.

  Cy had already taken Sarah ahead to see to Young, he imagined. Young had better be a good talker, or they would all be killed in short order. Had he really forgotten where he’d stashed The Red Lady and Mary? Probably another lie. If Sarah would only take off her rose-colored glasses about the guy. But something in Young’s words stuck with him when he spoke about Mary’s love for him.

  I didn’t deserve it...

  Quit going soft, Jett reprimanded himself. The guy had been ready to leave them behind and save his own skin.

  They arrived at the same dining room where Jett had received his “gift” from Ellsworth. Sarah was sitting stiffly next to Ellsworth, who claimed the chair at the head of the table. Young sat in a chair away from the table, eyes on the carpet. His face was still marked with bruises, but his color was better, as if the near escape had jarred some life back into him. Tom stood behind him, anger puckering his brow.

  Mr. Ellsworth was dressed in a pair of creased pants, a dark suit jacket and a button-up shirt. No tie. Maybe interrogation didn’t require formal neckwear, Jett thought idly.

  Jett was not offered a chair. He stood, legs splayed apart, pleased that at least they hadn’t bound his hands again after his ill-fated escape plan. All eyes were on Ellsworth.

  “How nice that you’ve regained your vigor, Mr. Young,” Ellsworth said, fingers drumming on the table. “You always were the energetic type, weren’t you?” Ellsworth glanced at Sarah. “Did you know he was hired to be my daughter’s fencing coach? He came regularly to teach her, made himself at home enjoying all the diversions the island had to offer—that is, until he stole from me.”

  Ellsworth’s expression was mild, but it was the kind of calm that settled over the water before a ferocious storm roared in.

  Young didn’t answer.

  “Mr. Young taught fencing classes at the college, which is how he met my Mary at the end of her senior year. He suggested he give her private lessons.” Ellsworth’s mouth tightened. “He was using her, of course, to get close to my art collection.”

  Young’s head snapped up. “You know how I felt about Mary.”

  “Oh, we do, don’t we, Tom?”

  Tom did not react except for a further souring of his expression.

  “We know how you felt about Mary, and how she felt about you after she realized you had stolen the Matisse from me.”

  “I gave it back.”

  “Yes, you did, didn’t you, when Tom applied some persuasion.” He gestured to Sarah again. “But he soon agreed to steal The Red Lady from Beretta for me to avoid prosecution.”

  “I tried to get it, but—”

  Ellsworth held up a hand. “Yes, I know what you said. You were unable to complete the job. You promised to return my money. All lies. I should have dealt with you then, but Mary pleaded your case. For some reason, she was fond of you. Pity, I imagine she felt—it could be nothing else. All those Jet Ski excursions, the snorkeling adventures. It was sympathy, nothing more.”

  Jett wondered about that. Something was flowing underneath the conversation like a fast-moving current. What had happened on this island?

  Ellsworth said, “You decided to strike off on your own, to keep my money and the painting and resell her to Beretta.”

  Young was still staring at the carpet.

  Ellsworth got up and walked to Young, putting a hand on his shoulder, which made the man flinch. “That was your first mistake, thinking I would not find out that you really did steal her. Do you know what your second mistake was?”

  Young chewed his lower lip.

  “Abducting Mary,” Ellsworth whispered.

  Young’s head shot up. “What?”

  “Taking my daughter,” Ellsworth said, louder.

  “Can’t you hear yourself? You’re nuts.” Young twisted to look at Tom and tried to rise. “You know he’s nuts. Why are you going along with this?”

  Tom slammed him back down in the chair. “Because you should be dead,” he grunted. “You should have been the one.”

  The one?

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah said, out of her chair now.

  “He’s crazy.” Young’s face was blotchy and pale. “I told you. He’s insane. He’s going to kill us all.”

  “I love my daughter,” Ellsworth said.

  “You don’t l
ove anything,” Young shouted. “That’s why you obsess about your art and your collections. You don’t know how to feel, so you buy the work of painters and artists who did.”

  Ellsworth regarded him with cold silence.

  “You don’t love,” Young said, voice dropping. “You possess. That’s why you’re alone.”

  “That’s enough,” Tom snapped.

  “Perhaps he’s right.” Ellsworth scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t feel things properly. I never did experience emotions as strongly as others. I’ve never cared for anyone but my wife and daughter. Even when my wife was sick, I found I could not feel the way others would. Instead of pity or compassion, I felt almost a sense of anger at her for falling sick, and ultimately for leaving me.” He looked to Sarah again. “Women feel everything so deeply—you can see their every thought and emotion as clear as paint on canvas. Like you, Ms. Gallagher.”

  Jett didn’t like the way Ellsworth looked at her. He eased closer until he felt Cy’s gun on his back, preventing him from moving any more.

  “So perhaps it is true that I can only possess,” he continued, now speaking to Young. “I strive to own and keep things.” He paused. “But here’s my little secret. Though I cannot feel, I like to be close to people who can feel everything—love, disappointment, joy...” He bent close to Young, whispering in his ear. “And pain.” He smiled as he pulled a pen from his pocket and held it in front of Young’s eyes. Jett’s gut knotted. “Do you know what this is, Mr. Young? It’s not just a writing implement, though it does write quite smoothly. Any guesses?”

  Young stared blankly.

  “No?” Ellsworth looked up. “Mr. Jett. I’m sure you’re familiar.”

  Training to be an explosive ordnance disposal technician meant he’d done plenty of hours on combat skills and weaponry at the Naval Construction Battalion Center in Gulfport. He’d seen just about every kind of weapon imaginable, even this one. “It’s a tactical pen.” He didn’t say the rest. Aircraft-grade aluminum with a carbide tip, capable of punching through flesh and breaking bones if used with enough force.

  “Yes.” Ellsworth gazed at the implement in his hand. “I’ve never hurt a man before, myself. But this time...” His gaze drifted to Young. “You’re right. I don’t feel many emotions, but I will be very close, so close, that I will experience every moment of your feelings, every second of your pain.” A dreamy smile crossed his lips.

  “No,” Sarah said, moving toward Ellsworth until Tom barred her way. “He’ll tell you. He’ll tell you what you want to know. There’s no reason to hurt him.”

  “There’s a good reason, Sarah,” Ellsworth said in a kindly voice. “I want to feel his pain.” He held the pen in an ice-pick grip. Young tried to get out of the chair, but Tom held him in a fierce grip, eyes burning.

  Sarah tried to step between them, but Jett grabbed her as Ellsworth raised the pen above his head, ready to slam it into Young’s thigh.

  “No,” Young screamed, writhing in Tom’s hold.

  “Don’t,” Sarah cried out, trying to free herself from Jett.

  Ellsworth’s arm descended in a vicious arc.

  Just as the lights were suddenly extinguished and the house plunged into darkness.

  TWELVE

  Sarah was immobilized by the darkness, but Jett was not. He grabbed her and pulled her to his side and toward the periphery of the room.

  “Head for the door,” he said, shoving her forward.

  They had not gone five steps when Cy activated a flashlight and stuck his gun in Jett’s face.

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Lock them all up,” Ellsworth was saying to Tom. “Check the electrical box. It’s probably the storm.”

  “What if it’s not?” Tom said, flicking on a Maglite he’d gotten from a pouch on his belt. “We talked about this possibility.”

  “It is the storm,” Ellsworth snapped. “Now go see to it.”

  Tom led Young away, and Cy did the same with Sarah and Jett, escorting them back down to their cellar prison at a near jog. Sarah gasped as she stepped into her cell.

  “There’s water on the floor. The cellar must flood during a storm.”

  “That explains the water stains.” Jett turned to Cy. “She needs to come in here with me. She’ll get sick if she’s wet and cold.”

  “She’s got her own cell,” Cy said.

  A crackle came over his radio. “Get up here, now,” Tom barked.

  Sarah saw the hesitation on Cy’s face. He wasn’t the decision maker, and he didn’t want to keep his boss waiting.

  Jett had seen it there, too. “If she gets sick, there’s no one here to help keep Young alive.” He paused. “Or anyone else who gets hurt. You don’t want that responsibility on your conscience, do you?”

  Cy hesitated only a moment. Then he shoved both of them into Jett’s cell and slammed and locked the door.

  “Can we have a light, please?” Sarah asked. “It’s pretty dark down here.”

  Cy pulled a penlight from his pocket and shoved it to Jett through the bars. Then he jogged out.

  Sarah’s feet were cold from the dousing. She tried to hug herself into some sense of warmth, but the chill of the temperature and the brutality she’d just witnessed remained. “What happened in that dining room? Ellsworth turned into a monster.”

  “He was already a monster.” Jett grabbed the blanket from his cot and wrapped it around her, bundling her close to him. “Come here, you’re cold.”

  Being in his arms again made her dizzy. She wished her senses would not respond so strongly to him, even after so many years had passed. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  She tried for a flippant remark to hide how very small she felt, how very safe in the circle of his embrace. “How come you’re not cold? You were in the ocean trying to catch Young.”

  He ran his hands along her back and shoulders, chafing some warmth into them. “I’m navy. We don’t get cold.”

  She sighed and leaned her head against him, giving in to the delicious warmth of his chest. She thought again of Ellsworth holding the pen, ready to slam it into Young’s thigh, his face aglow with sick anticipation. “I didn’t want to think that people could be like that, that they could brutalize each other for some piece of art to hang on a wall.”

  “You’ve never wanted to see the bad side in people,” he said. “I guess it’s all that church stuff.”

  She was too weary to engage him on this topic. “Why did the lights go out?”

  His grip around her tightened a fraction. “Not sure.”

  “But you have an idea.” His heart thudded a soothing rhythm against her cheek, and she wanted to rest in the steady beat, but his silence distracted her. She pulled back to study his face. It was impossible in the gloom.

  He shrugged, making a show of tightening the blanket around her. “We’re okay for now. That’s the important point.”

  “Jett, I know you too well, so don’t try to deceive me. What do you think is going on?”

  “Probably just a short circuit. The storm and all that.”

  “Or?”

  “Or nothing.”

  “I’m a detective, Jett, but even if I wasn’t, I could tell that you’re hiding something from me. I’m not going to let it drop, so you might as well say it. What else could have caused the blackout?”

  He let out a breath. “The other party interested in Del Young.”

  “The other...” Her heart thunked against her ribs. “Antonio Beretta? Here on the island?”

  “As I said, it’s probably just the storm, but Beretta doesn’t strike me as having a reputation for giving up.”

  She sank onto the cot, pulling her cold feet up underneath her. “Between Ellsworth and Beretta, I don�
��t know who’s crazier.”

  “My vote is Ellsworth. Beretta is a profit-driven drug lord, your typical ruthless thug, but Ellsworth has got something else going on altogether—something having to do with his daughter, I’d guess.”

  “Do you think Young is in love with Mary?”

  “No idea. But it occurred to me that Mary might not have been abducted after all. Maybe she went willingly with Young. Ellsworth did say she was smart, and she must know on some level that her dad is a little short on sanity. Maybe she escaped with him under her own free will and Ellsworth can’t admit that possibility.”

  “I had the same thought, but she’s not making an effort to visit or contact her father.”

  “Would you?”

  Would she? If her father was the manipulative and violent Ezra Ellsworth? “Could Mary possibly be involved in helping Young steal the painting from Beretta?”

  “If she is,” he said thoughtfully, “I hope she’s got a real good hiding place.”

  She recalled the sickly eager look on Ellsworth’s face as he held the tactical pen. I want to feel his pain.

  Sarah squeezed her arms around herself to contain a shiver. “I have some good news.”

  “We could use it.”

  “Right before they caught me, I found the housekeeper’s computer.”

  His eyes widened. “No joke?”

  “No joke.” It thrilled her to see the pride in his eyes. “I only had a second, but I sent an email to Candace. Only a few words. I told her we were alive but I didn’t...”

  She was interrupted as he took her hand, pulled her off the cot, and swung her in a circle. “Now we’re talking.” As he slid her to the floor, her mouth grazed his cheek. Suddenly she wished she could feel one more of Jett’s kisses, the warm, emotion-filled contact she’d craved when they were younger and the world was full of possibilities. If the past was truly past and they were free to remember the reasons they’d loved each other instead of the reasons they’d parted. His mouth moved closer to hers as if he, too, craved the connection.

  She angled her lips to his, body prickling with anticipation.